Briseis
by lil jake
Summary: My name is Briseis, and this is my story. Briseis' account of the events of Troy seen through the words in her prayer book-ONE SHOT-Review!


Briseis

_The Seventeenth day of the Passing of Persephone._

I am a virgin. But this is no surprise; rather, I am now an official virgin, a virgin of the temple of Apollo. A priestess to Apollo. Apollo, the god of the sun, the great twin brother of Artemis herself…the patron god to my city, Troy.

I am distraught. I don't want to be a temple virgin. I don't want to be a virgin for the rest of my life, at all. But did anyone ask me, before they decided my _entire_ future? No, no, of course not. But I am the perfect daughter, I am pretty enough, I do as I am told—and if I am told to live the rest of my life with the inhuman gratification of only the gods, I will. Of course, any qualities valued in a woman that are personified in me only serve as more fodder for those who agreed I should be given over to the temple of Apollo. The perfect Trojan girl, my father argued, should be given over to appease the gods and only the gods—for surely Troy would not want to incur their wrath by withholding my beauty and gentle nature from their service. He is biased, of course, as I am his only daughter, but the priests agreed—enough—with him to take me into their care and train me to be and official temple virgin. Did I mention I was distraught?

Not that I do not honor the gods, and not that I am not honored, myself, to be in their service. But…is it too much to want to be loved by a man? Really, _truly_ loved? Like the love of Hector for his Andromache. So intensely, purely beautiful…so full of trust and understanding and passion. So perfect, in all senses of the word 'love'. Paris is always coming back from his 'diplomatic' ventures, talking of danger and romance and beautiful women. How I long to be known as a beautiful woman, one capable of the kind of dashing romance Paris speaks wistfully of. How I wish I wasn't tied down to the temple of Apollo for the rest of my days that I might find myself in such dangerous adventure as Paris often speaks of. But no, I am a virgin. I am a priestess. And will remain as such, for the rest of my days.

But this book was given to me with the intent of my recording my daily prayers and holy thoughts. The priests assured me it was to be private, but I wouldn't want to incur the god's wrath by thinking unholy things of them. Rest assured, great Apollo, I am honored to be in your service, only slightly disappointed that I will never get to experience the life that seems to be my cousin, Paris's destiny…or the romance that is of the intensity and true nature of Hector and Andromache. But of course, I consider myself truly privileged to be called one of the priestesses of Apollo.

_The first day of the Apollo's Umbra._

Apollo's Umbra? Apparently, it is most common in this time of the year for the sun of Apollo to be covered by the moon of Artemis, so why is it called Apollo's Umbra and not Artemis's…non Umbra? Perhaps, because there is no word for non Umbra, and so, rather than invent it, they just picked the god over the goddess. I suppose that is another one of those questions the priests would assure me 'I am not to ask'.

Paris and Hector are to be arriving from Sparta any day now, providing their sailing is smooth, bless Poseidon. This temple virgin thing isn't so bad, after all. I am learning to read and write in Latin—can you imagine? A girl, reading and writing, and in Latin, no less. The language of the true scholars, my father assures me, as he is allowed to visit me every so often, on the days of prayer. It is not as hard as one might presume, considering the reason women are not schooled in Latin is for their fragile natures—it is said that the strain might affect their womanliness. Well, I have been doing it for almost four full-moons now (bless Artemis), and my womanliness hasn't gone yet…unfortunately. One cannot imagine how uncomfortable it is to be a woman, especially in the humidity we are experiencing now.

Oh, yes, I am to be recording holy thoughts and prayers.

…

I suppose, I should mention that I saw a black eagle fly toward the horizon today, a sure sign that there is to be some sort of war about to break out, and pray that Ares protect the soldiers in that battle. And…

Thank you, Athena, for your gifts of words and I am honored to have the privilege of learning them in a way I never thought I would. Bless Artemis, who is the patron of virgins, and bless her brother Apollo, of whom I am a priestess.

_Sixth day of Apollo's Umbra (or Artemis's Non-Umbra)_

Paris has come home! Hector as well, and as much as I love them both, Paris has always been my favorite cousin. He is not much older than me, but the past year in Sparta has grown him to a man—quite a man, as he has brought a guest with him. Helen, I believe he called her, and by the gods, she is beautiful. I could not compete; luckily I do not have to. Her hair is gold, and her eyes bluer than the Mediterranean, and Paris looks at her like a thirsty man in the desert. He has changed, but I still see the old, mischievous Paris I love…but he is more, well, as I said earlier, grown. And broader, and his eyes have a sparkle which I have never seen before. I believe it might be that perfect, passionate love that Hector and Andromache share.

Bless Poseidon for bringing my cousins home safely, and bless Aphrodite for Paris's love.

_Seventh day of Artemis's Non-Umbra_

Today we found a raven. It had been torn apart, by…a dog, perhaps, and its entrails were sticky crimson and strewn about the steps of the temple. I only caught a glimpse of it before the priests shooed me away, muttering darkly to themselves. They would not talk of it after it was cleaned from the steps, but the troubled glances they shared were enough confirm that they had taken it as an omen.

Hector is troubled, as well. I overheard him discussing the 'situation', as he called it, with my uncle. He did not say what, but Paris has taken something from Menelaus, King of Sparta. What, I cannot imagine, but something very precious. The only thing I can come up with is some sort of treasure, but kings have much treasure…so his annoyance, sure, but anger does not make plausibility.

A priest told me today that I must keep all of my closest possessions with me at all times in the case of an…occurrence. He did not say what, but stressed that my prayer book would get me through the most difficult of times.

Bless Apollo; I am most honored to serve you.

_First day of Artemis's Hunt._

I am not sure where I am. It is mostly dark, and there are men speaking angrily in the distance. Today…today many boats arrived on the shores of Troy. They were not merchant ships, but war-boats, their sails flying high with symbols of destruction slashed upon them. A ship with a black sail docked first, or so I hear. I was in the temple at the time. We were in the middle of prayer, when men in clanking, angry armor rushed inside. They didn't even speak as they sliced the priests behind me through the gut. I was partially concealed behind a pillar, and I managed to hide myself in time. The men drew themselves out of the temple in silent uncaring, and Hector walked through. I almost called out to him, but the one they call their leader was still inside, defacing the statues of the god and swinging his sword around like a fool. I didn't hide long enough, or run fast enough.

Hector, from what I heard, is still alive, praise Zeus. But they caught me, as I was trying to escape the temple. I am sitting in a tent somewhere, my ankle chained to a pole. They didn't think to tie my hands, but I suppose they don't need to. I am in the middle of enemy territory. They are coming back now, I think. They are taking me somewhere.

Praise Apollo, have mercy on your servant. Bless Artemis, be the patron of my virginity now, if ever you were.

_I have lost track of the days._

So much has happened since…since I was captured. I am still in the enemy's territory, though I am 'no longer a prisoner'. It is…a long story, to say the least. But I have time, as everyone is away from the camp, either engaging or watching some battle. Of course, I would be mad to try to escape now, as there are guards posted everywhere (I already checked this out) and none of them know of my newly heightened status.

Did you know the Greeks have a great warrior? His name is Achilles, and he is…well, he looks like a god; a fallen god, but a god, nonetheless. He is huge, and hardened, and very, very male. I am his slave. I was. There is so much to tell. But an important thing to note is that I am no longer a virgin.

I know I should feel more remorse at losing my connection to the great god Apollo (bless Apollo), but truthfully, I could never have imagined the great pleasure that can become of a man loving—dare I use this word so out of context?—a woman. There are no words to describe how this man touched me, how he held me, how he made me feel more desired than anyone save the beautiful Aphrodite herself. I can see why Paris spoke wistfully of the conquests he made.

But, I am getting ahead of myself. The last time I wrote, I was a prisoner, and men did come to take me away. They took me to Achilles' tent, where I actually _was_ tied. He came in, in all his glory, and I instantly recognized the man who had mocked the gods at the temple of Apollo. He was not so mocking this time, rather, silent as he washed himself and changed. A man…a friend, of his, perhaps, called to him to see Agamemnon. Agamemnon…conqueror of most of Greece, was here; ready to add Troy to his long list of lands. Men came to the tent, shortly after Achilles left, and untied me, one leering down the front of my temple robes. I kicked him, hard, and gave him a very innocent smile when he looked up at me. Thankfully…well, relatively, we had reached our destination, and he was saved the trouble of hitting a woman. Bunch of dogs, they all are, really.

I found myself outside the tent of Agamemnon…it was a grossly ostentatious tent, I must admit. Inside I could hear Achilles growing frustrated with Agamemnon, who simply laughed and yelled something. The men holding me heard it, and dragged me inside. Agamemnon said something that alluded to what he would find pleasure in with me—I don't remember exactly what, and pressed his filthy hands all over my body. Achilles drew his sword—did that man know how to resolve anything peacefully, I wondered—and threatened everyone in the room at the expense of my care. I then, stupidly, yelled that I didn't want anyone's death on my account, though; looking back at it, perhaps that dog Agamemnon should have died then. And Achilles listened. Agamemnon mocked him, but he walked curtly past us, looking once into my eyes. His steel-blue eyes held something there I didn't even want to think about. Something…weary under the hardened iciness. Something that suggested he might have emotion, and at the time, he was the enemy. I didn't need his emotion to confuse things.

Agamemnon gave me over to the soldiers; perhaps he didn't want Achilles coming after him. I was in the process of defending myself—quite impressively, I thought—that night, when Achilles walked onto the scene. He killed a man. He killed a man on my account, and dragged me back to his tent. I didn't want his help, I didn't want his hospitality, but he ignored what I wanted. And, that night, I could have killed him. Oh, I could have killed him right there, but for some reason that flash of emotion I'd seen earlier wouldn't let me.

I should have killed him.

But I didn't. And now…I am no longer a virgin. He is outside…I can hear him talking of leaving. Of leaving, and taking me with him.

Bless Zeus, bless Apollo. Bless Ares and Athena, and have mercy on the soldiers who are fighting. Bless Artemis, though I am no longer a virgin.

_It is night_.

And Achilles is sobbing. His back is to mine, and he is not making any sound, but he is sobbing. What, I am so desperate to know, could make the great Achilles break down like this?

_Third day of Mourning for Hector_

Hector is dead. Achilles has killed him. Priam took his body back, and with the body, I was released. Hector is dead. I am numb. I should have killed Achilles, and I didn't. And…I am not regretful of what happened with Achilles and me, either. I should be, but I am not.

Hades, bless his soul.

_First day of a New __Troy_

Paris claims that Apollo guided the arrow that broke Achilles. And I believe him. Perhaps it is because I cannot accept that my beloved cousin truly killed the man I love. Loved. Yes. There is a new troy, now. Paris and Helen are struggling to lead us, but they are succeeding. I am no longer a virgin, and can no longer be a priestess to the god Apollo. But, I'm not so sure I'd want to be, anymore.

Achilles is dead. He came looking for me, and that is what killed him. I cannot say I regret either the love we shared, or his death, truthfully. I am no longer a virgin of Apollo, and I am glad of that. I have had the romance I was so desperately craving, and the danger…and now I am living the adventure. Achilles was ready to die—too ready, almost. He wanted to die, and he deserved to die…the men he killed…no, I did not want him to die, but he wanted to die. And that is why I can say I am not regretful of his death. I gave him peace, in a lifetime of war, he said. I can only be honored that I could give him that, what can one give a man who has been so conditioned that he wants to die so badly? I cannot say.

I love him. And he will live on, in the stories. The greatest war that ever was, is what they are already calling it. And Achilles' name is at the forefront. This is the first day of the new Troy, it is not a day for looking back and thinking what might have been. So, I am going to burn this prayer book, and pray that it goes straight to Achilles' heart, that he might know I felt the words we could never speak. And then I will be contented.

A woman's work is never done.

_End_.

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